


May the Mercury Jump to Ninety-Three

by summerstorm



Category: Glee
Genre: Aphrodisiacs, Cliche, Crack, F/F, First Time, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-03
Updated: 2010-04-03
Packaged: 2017-10-08 16:30:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/77535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerstorm/pseuds/summerstorm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Quinn should have known better than to open the box.</p>
            </blockquote>





	May the Mercury Jump to Ninety-Three

**Author's Note:**

> *hands* I have no excuse to offer you guys for this. I guess I just get cracky when blocked. Read through by the always lovely Annemari.

Quinn should have known better than to open the box.

She also should have known better than to allow the box to be opened at all, even if it wasn't her yanking off the lid.

Now, she was stuck in the nurse's office with Rachel Berry, watching the new nurse—so young her dark skin turned a shade of mahogany when she realized what was going on—walk out the door on a quest for some kind of sedative, and feeling like she was about to jump out of her skin.

In the meanwhile, Rachel was sitting on her own hands in her chair, bouncing a little and worrying her lip and ratcheting Quinn's anxiety up by a billion.

"Stop squirming," Quinn said, gritting her teeth.

"I would if I _could_," Rachel shot back. "It's not my fault your former cheerleading captain sent us a rare breed of fireflies for our project."

"You think it's _my_ fault?" At Rachel's shrug, Quinn went on, "I don't even know who got in touch with her, but trust me, it wasn't me. Ms. Sylvester's still mad at us for getting her fired again. I'm not dumb enough to give her a chance to mess with me."

"Well, clearly, Quinn, she didn't need any help from you in succeeding at making our lives hell from a distance."

Quinn felt her face harden and her nostrils flare slightly. She gave Rachel a defiant glare, and followed Rachel's gaze when it settled on Quinn's shirt, underneath which Quinn had slid one of her fidgeting hands and was—this was so embarrassing—tweaking her own nipple in a stupid, fruitless attempt to shudder this horrible tension out of her body.

"What do you think we should do?" Rachel said. Quinn could tell it pained her to hold back and ask instead of do whatever she was thinking about doing or having Quinn do to her. It was—well, it was nice, though she wasn't about to thank Rachel for the gesture. She wasn't the only one struggling to stay still.

"How should I know?"

"You know Sue's methods better than I do," Rachel said. "If there is any way we can go home with our dignity mostly intact and sleep through the patent period, I would like to be informed of it before anything regrettable happens."

"What do you think it's going to happen?" Quinn said with a grimace, repulsed by the assumption. "I'm not going to force myself on you, if that's what you're thinking."

Rachel bit her lip and unsubtly pressed the heel of her hand between her legs, over her skirt. A wave of mortification rushed through Quinn when she realized she _wanted_ to take over for her on both things. "That's not what I'm worried about," Rachel said, just two feet away, but it only echoed in Quinn's head as though the sound had gone and faded through miles before reaching her ears.

The situation was so messed up. It had been bad enough she'd been assigned to write a report on an insect of their choice for Biology class with Rachel Berry—"Well," she'd said to Rachel, "I guess there's no bigger bug than you in school."—but there were just no words for this. Quinn had been put in charge of acquiring a few baby fireflies to observe because, well, clearly Rachel would just scare whoever she chose to ask for them into retirement, and Quinn didn't want that sort of insane cruelty reflected on her school file.

So she'd asked their teacher, and left it at that. And then they'd been called into an empty classroom, where they'd found a box tagged DANGER: FIREFLIES and assumed it was meant for anyone who stumbled into it by accident and was curious enough to open it.

And then, as Rachel was hooking her thumbs into the corners of the lid, Quinn had noticed the note that had flown across the desk—

_Life lesson: no obstacles are unsurpassable if you are a wild lion with a brain the size of Ethiopia. These little babies are your ticket to Sue's Planet of Terror. If you learn one thing today, you little mongrels, learn this: if Sue won't come to the mountain, the mountain must breed hyperactive insects with glands that secrete an irresistible philter while in extended captivity, and send them to do harm in her stead. - S.S.._

—and yelled, "Wait, don't!" and then a wave of aquamarine-colored smoke had surged out of the box, like the fireflies had had time to bathe in their own aphrodisiacal substance for a while before the box had reached its destination.

Quinn had felt hot all over, and she'd looked at Rachel for a second, just to _murder her_, but instead of yelling at her she'd just felt completely transfixed by what she saw, felt her breathing get louder and shallow—she couldn't stop staring at Rachel's mouth, at her full, swollen lips, then the shape of her breasts—Quinn could almost feel them warm and soft under her hands—and her _legs_ in those knee-high socks, her thighs—Quinn's fingers had itched to touch them, to dig into the small dips on Rachel's knees and grab her ankles and pull her closer—

And then Rachel was stepping right into Quinn's personal space and, with nothing but a look of panic to warn Quinn, smashing their mouths together. Their teeth clacked in a way that would normally have made Quinn's head ache, but instead only served to make her want Rachel _more_, and then she was sucking on Rachel's tongue and Rachel's hands were everywhere—her waist, fingertips dipping under the waistband of her underwear, making her hips jerk back into the touch, so humiliating—but it felt _amazing_—

—and then Rachel had pulled back and said quickly, "We need to go see the nurse," and Quinn had nodded so hard she'd thought her head might detach itself from her neck.

And now they were fidgeting in a nurse's office and Quinn was starting to question the extent of her self-control. Now that the nurse had, irresponsibly, left them _alone_, and Quinn couldn't stop thinking about laying Rachel down on the floor or on the narrow cot nearby and fucking her face, or bending her over the nurse's desk and fingering her senseless. Every single fantasy about Rachel she'd ever pretended not to have was now flashing through her head like some kind of instruction manual drenched in ridiculous temptation.

And Rachel—the knuckles on the hand she had wrapped around the arm of the chair were going white, and her tongue kept slipping out to lick her lips, and her eyes kept flicking to random spots of Quinn's body. Every look felt like a touch.

"I still don't like you," Quinn blurted out, and then she yanked her shirt over her head and undid her bra and she didn't even have to pull Rachel to her feet because Rachel's mouth was already on her, urging her to straddle her thighs on the chair as she rolled a hard nipple between her teeth and sucked it into her mouth before lapping at it and switching to Quinn's other breast. Quinn heard herself whimper when Rachel broke contact, but that didn't last long, because then she was being pushed onto the nurse's desk.

Quinn just let her back hit the wooden surface as Rachel worked her jeans off, tried to steady her breathing and keep from hindering the undressing process. It was kind of difficult not to move when her nails were pinching her nipples of their own volition and Rachel was throwing Quinn's jeans and underwear onto the cot and nibbling her way up Quinn's leg, pausing to lick and suck at patches of skin along her thigh. A couple of times it seemed like Rachel wanted to speak, but then she just made a face like she was torn between crying and coming and placed more kisses up Quinn's belly.

Then, Rachel captured her mouth in a wet, frantic kiss and tugged at Quinn's hand until it was so far up between her legs Quinn felt the damp warmth seeping through the cotton of Rachel's panties and couldn't not touch.

Quinn sat up, ass sliding off the edge of the desk, hand braced on her side to keep from falling down, and pushed the crotch of Rachel's panties aside, dipped her fingers right into her wetness. Rachel's hips bucked into the touch, positioning herself so that one of Quinn's knuckles brushed against the right spot every time she moved. Quinn took the hint and didn't draw it out, just rubbed tight, fast circles around that spot until Rachel was making throaty noises and her entire body was _shuddering_ like it had been wishing for release forever.

It didn't seem far-fetched; Quinn's body was still waiting, oversensitive and alert and desperate for some kind of touch.

As Rachel came down from her orgasm, her breathing slowed down, but her eyes were still wide, pupils dilated, gaze set on Quinn as though that hadn't been enough to get rid of whatever she'd inhaled from the fireflies' box. But it had been, Quinn was sure of it—Rachel's body shivered a few times, irregularly, but the distress and yearning Quinn was still feeling wasn't reflected on Rachel's demeanor, which was both a relief and a source of frustration.

"Rachel," Quinn said, tone halfway between demanding and scared—she _needed_ this, she needed Rachel to be a decent human being for once instead of trying to one-up everyone, or—Rachel could one-up Quinn all she wanted as long as it involved that mouth on hers again—

Rachel looked nervous for a moment, not so much like she was considering leaving Quinn hanging but like she wasn't sure it was a good idea to do it now that having an orgasm had cleared her senses, and Quinn just wanted to yell at her, except she needed her mouth to breathe.

Thankfully, after that, Rachel nodded once, twice, almost as if she was mustering up some courage, and took Quinn's hand, saying, "That desk must be terribly uncomfortable," and guiding her towards the cot, which Quinn barely reached on such shaky legs as hers were. She was about to climb on it when Rachel put a hand on her lower back and said, "No. I mean—I think this would be easier if you bent over—"

Quinn shot a look at her and complied, because she was way past caring about dignity or just about _any_thing that wasn't directly conducive to getting off.

And then Quinn felt Rachel's hand brushing the insides of her thighs, traveling upwards, and she buried her face in the white, bleach-smelling sheets as two of Rachel's fingers made their way inside her.

"Quinn, you're dripping wet," Rachel said matter-of-factly, like Quinn wasn't perfectly aware of it. Quinn almost countered that she wasn't the only one _affected like that by those freaking fireflies_, because—yeah, Quinn had stopped lying to herself that she wasn't attracted to Rachel in the slightest months ago, but every sensation and bit of lust was heightened like crazy by the smoke they'd breathed in—and Quinn wasn't the only one who'd soaked through her panties in this room, and then Rachel crooked her fingers experimentally.

Quinn forgot about the accusation and let out a loud yelp.

Rachel took it as encouragement, slid a third finger alongside the others and proceeded to fuck Quinn in earnest.

Rachel's fingers pumping in and out of her were somewhat relieving, and so was how Rachel seemed determined to finger Quinn into the thin mattress of the cot. There was something humiliating about it too, but not in the way that she'd have to kill Rachel over this later—though she'd definitely have to place a few thinly-veiled threats to keep her quiet. It was humiliating in a way Quinn could barely bear; it turned her knees to jelly and Quinn almost wanted to ask Rachel to do it harder, to stand over her and order her to take it and just—the feeling was both surprising and incredible, being at Rachel's mercy like this, leaving her climax up to Rachel's whims.

Just when the pressure was finally building up towards Quinn's orgasm, Rachel withdrew her fingers, and Quinn whimpered and then moaned desperately some more before she realized Rachel had knelt down and was spreading Quinn's thighs apart, mouthing at the line where her leg and her ass met before sticking her head between Quinn's legs.

Quinn let out a deep breath, and lowered herself onto Rachel's mouth.

There was a noise—a tiny whimper, and Quinn was almost sure it hadn't been her. At that moment, she realized Rachel wasn't just doing this just because she owed Quinn for getting her off. There was no way Rachel would have gone on her knees for her when her fingers inside Quinn were doing just fine.

But she had, and now she was lapping at Quinn wantonly, kissing her and dipping her tongue in irregularly like she wasn't sure what she wanted to do the most, and just like that Quinn bit down hard on her lip and felt the first wave break through her, intense and unyielding and _un_believable, all the more so because Rachel was still licking at her, breathing every last hint of Quinn's orgasm out of her.

By the time Quinn felt strong enough to get up and get dressed, Rachel was sitting primly in a chair, watching her.

"Watching people when they're naked is creepy," Quinn pointed out, and hurried her jeans back on.

"I wouldn't look at you if you didn't look like that," Rachel blurted out, then tried to amend it by saying, "I mean, not that you look like anythi—"

"Shut up, Berry," Quinn said, retrieving her bra and shirt and sliding them on as unselfconsciously as she could manage, which was more than before now that her brain was only impaired by orgasming and not by random chemical substances explicitly meant to confuse. "We need to leave."

"The nurse said she'd come back within the half hour," Rachel said. "It would be bad form, not to mention irresponsible with regards to our health, to let her come back to an empty office and wonder whether we were kidnapped and raped—in the state we were in when she left, Quinn, think about it—or _dead_."

"I think she'll just happy to be rid of you," said Quinn.

Rachel studied her face and said, "Well," reluctantly, "someone must dispose of the fireflies."

"And we know how to deal with it if we inhale any more of that crap," Quinn added.

"Fine," Rachel agreed, picking up a pen and a sheet of paper and eying Quinn meaningfully, "but I'm leaving a note."


End file.
